Monday, July 4, 2011

Mr. Monk Visits a Farm – Monk Transcript 5.14

Mr Monk square dancingA farmer gives his pig a bath.

Harvey: That feels good doesn’t it? Doesn’t it, honey? I got a great meal for you. Yes, I do. Yes, I do. That’s a good girl. Now, you finish up all those vegetables. I…I mixed it up for you just the way you like it. Yes, I did.

A car from Belmont Farms pulls up the driveway.

Harvey: Yes, I did. Yes, I do. You’re the prettiest baby on this farm. Yes, you are. Yes, you are.

The man driving the car enters the shed.

Man: Harvey.
Harvey: Hello, James.
James: I figured you’d be here. I heard she took another blue ribbon on Sunday.
Harvey: That’s right. We’re going to Sacramento in three weeks.
James: Now, why don’t you two just get married already and make it legal?
Harvey: What the hell you talking about? She’s a pig!
James: Harvey, it’s a joke.
Harvey: Well, it wasn’t funny. Now, I was just down in the gulch. It’s all still there, James. I’m no fool. You said you’d get rid of it by Friday.
James: Relax. We’ve been neighbors, what, fifteen years?
Harvey: Right.
James: Now, you’re a businessman, right? Continue reading...

James pulls out a swad of cash from his pocket.

James: Ten thousand dollars, and I know you could use it.
Harvey: This isn’t about the money. It’s about the law.
James: All right. I got it. You’re a boy scout.

James pulls another swad of cash from his pocket.

James: Fifteen grand. Now, that’ll buy you a whole lot of merit badges, and a pretty pink bonnet for your girlfriend, too.

The pig grunts.

Harvey: You keep that money, ‘cause you’re gonna need it for a lawyer. I’m calling Sheriff Butterfield.
James: Harvey, wait. Okay, you win. I’ll do it. I will do it. I promise I’ll get rid of it. I promise, but I can’t do it tonight. Now, I need 24 hours. That’s all I’m asking. One day, and it’ll all be gone, guaranteed.
Harvey: Okay, 24 hours.
James: Thank you, Harvey. Good man. Good pig, too.

Sheriff Butterfield is watching James Belmont at the square dancing hall. James looks at his watch, and it’s 10:28pm. The lights at the hall flicker. The band stops playing. The people wonder what’s happening. James Belmont smirks. The band resumes playing, and the people square dance once again.

James: Did you hear that?
Man: I didn’t hear anything.
James: Hey! Hey, hold on! Quiet down! That sounded like a gunshot.

The people murmur. Sheriff Butterfield with her deputy drives to Harvey’s farm, and finds his prized pig dead on the road.

Deputy: Oh my God! It’s Nadine.

Sheriff Butterfield removes her hat to show respect.

Butterfield: How are we gonna break the news to Harvey?
Deputy: I don’t think we have to.

Sheriff Butterfield and the deputy walk over to Harvey’s old truck that ran over an electric fence. Harvey is in the driver’s seat already dead.

Randy is at a hotel’s hallway with a note in his hand.

Randy: Okay. This is it. 109.

A police officer follows him to the door when they hear a toilet flushing.

Randy: He’s flushing the drugs. We gotta take him now.
Officer: The captain said to wait.
Randy: No, no time. Let’s do it.

Lieutenant Randy Disher kicks the door, and enters the unlit room.

Randy: Police officers! Police officers!
Woman: What?
Randy: Watch her! Show me your hands! Now! Show me your hands! Right now! Hands up! Hands on the wall.

Lt. Randy Disher accosts the man, and pushes him against the wall.

Man: What are you doing?
Randy: What are you doing, you son of a bitch? Against the wall.
Woman: Oh, my God. Leave him alone.
Randy: Tell your hooker to shut up.
Man: My hooker? Who are you?
Randy: I’m a cop. Wanna tell me what you just flushed down the toilet?
Man: No.
Randy: All right, Alfonso. We’ll do it your way. You have the right to remain silent.
Man: Who the hell is Alfonso?
Randy: Anything you say can and will be used against you in a…

Another police officer arrives, and turns on the lights.

Lt. Randy Disher has handcuffed an old man, and terrorized his wife.

Woman: Oh, Bernie. Oh, Bernie. Get away.
Randy: Um…Oh.

Lt. Randy Disher takes out the note in his pocket. He turns it around to read 601 instead of 109.

Officer: There he goes! Alfonso! Police! Drop the gun! Drop the gun!
Randy: I’m, uh, I’m really sorry, Mr…
Woman: His name is Bernard Garrison. He is a retired lawyer.
Bernie: I’m not retired anymore.
Woman: Oh.

Captain Stottlemeyer is on the phone in his office.

Stottlemeyer: Yeah, I’ve called his house. Oh, there he is. He just walked in. There you are. I’ve been trying to call you all…

Lt. Randy Disher hands Captain Stottlemeyer his resignation letter.

Stottlemeyer: Randy, don’t do this.
Randy: It’s effective as of noon today. So, I have, uh, nine minutes left if there’s anything you need me to do quickly. Maybe some filing? That’s 8 minutes and 49 seconds.
Stottlemeyer: Randy. I know how you feel. You screwed up. Everybody screws up.
Randy: You’re right. Everybody does screw up, but I am a screw-up. There’s a difference.

Lt. Randy Disher surrenders his gun and badge.

Randy: You need to sign for those.
Stottlemeyer: We picked up Rivera this morning.
Randy: No thanks to me.
Stottlemeyer: You don’t have to worry about Garrison. State’s attorney’s negotiating with him. He’s gonna settle. They always do. Randy…son…this badge represents ten years of your life. Ten years of good work.
Randy: Captain, I’m done. I’m leaving. Hey, I’ve already sublet my apartment. You remember my uncle? Uncle Harvey?
Stottlemeyer: Sure. The farmer. The suicide.
Randy: Yeah, well, an estate lawyer called me last week. He left me his farm.
Stottlemeyer: You’re kidding.
Randy: I know. I was gonna…I was gonna sell the place, but, you know, after this, I’m…I’m gonna do it.
Stottlemeyer: You’re gonna do what?
Randy: Take it over. Run the place. Work the land.
Stottlemeyer: “Work the land”? What are you, Woody Guthrie? Randy, you’re not a farmer.
Randy: Well, you might be right. All I know for sure is, I’m not a cop.

Natalie Teeger struggles to enter Adrian Monk’s apartment as she carries a box of plants.

Monk: I still can’t believe they wanted $20 to deliver this stuff. Who’s laughing now?
Natalie: We are. We’re laughing.
Monk: Wait! Whoa, whoa, whoa. That’s dirt. That’s dirt. You’re gonna track dirt all through the kitchen. Wait there. Don’t move.
Natalie: Ugh, come on, Mr. Monk. It’s heavy.
Monk: Don’t move.

Adrian Monk takes out a small broom, and a dustpan.

Natalie: Hurry!
Monk: Sorry, I just have a thing about dirt. It’s just so dirty. You know?

The phone rings.

Monk: I bet that’s how it got its name. “Dirt”. Can you get it? Phone.

Natalie Teeger sets down the box of plants on the countertop.

Monk: Natalie, the telephone.

Adrian Monk sighs.

Monk: I’ll get it. I’ll get it.

Adrian Monk answers the phone.

Monk: Hello? Randy! It’s Randy. Nothing. Nothing much. Just helping Natalie carry in some boxes. How’s it going up there?

Randy Disher is at the farm he inherited from his uncle.

Randy: Actually, Monk, that’s why I’m calling. Something came up. You, you know about my uncle, right?
Monk: Your uncle? The dead one?
Natalie: Mr. Monk!
Randy: They say he committed suicide, but I started asking around and some things just don’t add up. You know, unless I’m wrong, which I probably am. Monk, do you think you could come up here, and take a look around?
Monk: You’re on a farm.
Randy: It’ll only take a few hours.
Monk: A few hours on a farm?
Randy: Monk, I think somebody killed my uncle.
Monk: Randy, I’d like to. I really would, but…you’re on a farm.

Adrian Monk covers the mouthpiece, and speaks to Natalie.

Monk: He wants us to come up there?
Natalie: Mr. Monk, I can’t. Julie has school.
Monk: Natalie can’t come. Sorry.
Randy: Monk, you can come alone. Please? There’s a bus.
Monk: A bus to a farm? A bus to the…a bus? A bus? Bus to the farm?

Natalie Teeger takes the phone from Mr. Monk.

Natalie: Hey, stranger. How’s it going? Of course he’ll be there. Don’t be silly. You’re family. Tomorrow morning. I will put him on the bus myself.
Monk: A bus? A Bus? To the farm?
Natalie: Yeah.

Adrian Monk arrives by bus on the farm. He hauls two suitcases with him.

Monk: Thank you for letting me keep my bags up top. Oh, is this where I get the bus to go back?
Driver: No!

The driver quickly closes the door, and drives away in a rush.

Monk: That’s a lot of dirt.

A farmer who is fixing a fence sees Adrian Monk walking on the dirt road.

Monk: Oh, God. Oh, no!

Adrian Monk cringes as he tries to avoid dung heaps on the road. He glares at the cow.
Randy Disher is in bed listening to a self-help tape.

Man on Tape: These changes are like ripples on a pond. But is that enough? Are you satisfied being just a ripple?
Randy: No. Not a ripple.
Man on Tape: You are a tidal wave. Say it with me. I am a tidal wave.
Randy: I am a tidal wave.

The farmer watching Adrian Monk enters Randy Disher’s room.

Man on Tape: I love and approve of myself.

The farmer wakes Randy Disher.

Farmer: Mr. D?
Man on Tape: I live in the now.
Farmer: Hey. Tidal wave!
Man on Tape: And my inadequacies…
Farmer: You’ve got company.
Randy: Who is it?
Farmer: Funny fellow. Kind of nervous.
Randy: It’s Monk. Oh, okay. Okay. I’m up. I’m up. Oh, hey. Something smells good. What’s for breakfast?
Farmer: It’s lunch. I’ve been up since five.
Randy: O’clock?
Farmer: Yes, o’clock.
Randy: Why? I know farm stuff. You should’ve woken me up.
Farmer: I did.

Adrian Monk is at the barn watching Randy Disher unload a truck of hay.

Randy: You okay?
Monk: Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m fine. It’s just, you know, everything. The earth and the outdoors. All the animals. Animal byproducts.
Randy: Well, you know, all the food you eat comes from farms just like this.
Monk: Not anymore. Not as of the last 23 minutes.
Randy: Well, I love it. I used to come up here every summer helping Uncle Harvey run the place. I still can’t believe it’s all mine. It’s all mine. It’s my farm. I own a farm. I’m the Farmer in the Dell.

The farmer arrives.

Farmer: I got that tractor running.
Randy: Was it broken?
Farmer: Since Tuesday.
Randy: But it’s working now? Good. Good. Good man, Oates.
Oates: You feed the jerseys?
Randy: Yes. Yes, I did.
Oates: Today?
Randy: No, not today exactly.
Oates: They gotta be fed every day. Animals eat every day! I’ll do it. Jesus…
Randy: Oates. Oates, would you, uh, would you tell Monk what you were telling me the other day?
Oates: About how you’re not cut out to…
Randy: Oh, no. No, no, no. About Uncle Harvey.
Oates: Well, I’ve been working this farm for 20 years. Your uncle was a tad peculiar especially about Nadine.
Monk: Nadine?
Randy: Uh, his pig. It was like child.
Oates: Old Harvey was a character. There’s no denying it, but it was just him, and me up here. I knew that man better than I knew myself. I could live a thousand years before I’d believe that he tried to do himself in.
Randy: Monk, can I show you something?

Randy Disher uncovers the truck Uncle Harvey drove to the electric fence.

Randy: This is exactly how they found it. They were gonna tow it away, but I took another look. Something just didn’t feel right. I covered it up, and I called you.
Monk: I’m glad you did.
Randy: Really?
Monk: No. Where was the pig?
Randy: She was right there on the road.
Monk: So, according to the police, your uncle was driving home, lost control of the truck, accidentally ran over Nadine, his beloved, prize-winning, 200-pound pig.
Randy: She was pig of the year. Three years in a row.
Monk: Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t get a chance to…to meet her. So he hit Nadine, and then he careened off the road, and into the electric fence. Then he realized what he had done. “Oh, my God! I killed the Pig of the Year.” And he was so depressed…

Adrian Monk walks over to the truck. Randy Disher opens the driver’s door, and Monk examines the inside of the truck.

Monk: He was so overcome with grief that he grabbed the rifle from that gun rack, and killed himself.
Randy: Right. That’s the official version, but look at this. Uncle Harvey kept a handgun under the seat. Why didn’t he use it? It would’ve been a lot easier.
Monk: You think he was killed by somebody who didn’t know about the handgun. Did he have any enemies?
Randy: Well, I’ve been asking around. Two days before the accident, he was seen arguing with Jimmy Belmont. He’s another farmer. He lives up the road.
Monk: Arguing about what?
Randy: Nobody knows.
Monk: People argue all the time, Randy.
Randy: Okay. Okay, I know. But what about this? How did Nadine get out of her pen? She was locked up 24/7, and she wouldn’t let anybody near her except Uncle Harvey.
Monk: Okay. Okay, yeah, maybe, maybe she was drugged. Where is the pig? Maybe we could have them do an autopsy.
Randy: We ate her.
Monk: You ate the pig?
Randy: Yeah, I know. I’m an idiot.
Monk: No, I didn’t say that…
Randy: No, I’m…See, Monk? That’s why I’m not a cop. What kind of cop eats a crucial piece of evidence?

Sheriff Butterfield and her deputy arrives at the farm.

Butterfield: Mr. Disher, I’ve been telling you all week you’ve gotta fix your fence. You’ve got deer all over the road. You must be the famous Mr. Monk. Disher talks about you all the time.
Deputy: You gonna clean his house while you’re here?
Butterfield: He’s joking. We were joking with you. Welcome to Chambers County, Mr. Monk. Got a housewarming gift for you. It’s the case file. Complete with photos, but you’re both wasting your time. It was a suicide, sure as shooting.
Monk: How do you know?
Butterfield: Lenny and me were the first ones up here. We were at the community center down the hill. There’s a big dance every month. Someone heard a gunshot. We were here four, maybe five minutes later.
Monk: You didn’t see anybody else?
Butterfield: Nah, he was alone. I’m a hundred percent sure. The irrigation sprinklers were on. The ground was muddy. There were no footprints. By the truck, on the road, nowhere. It was suicide. Sad but true.
Lenny: Sheriff, we have to go.

Adrian Monk reads through the case file.

Butterfield: I’m gonna need that back. Uh, there’s another dance tonight. You can bring it with you.
Randy: Well, I wasn’t planning on going to the dance tonight.
Butterfield: I wasn’t talking to you.

Sheriff Butterfield winks her eye at Mr. Monk, and clicks her tongue.

Butterfield: Do something about those deer.
Randy: Yes, ma’am.

Sheriff Butterfield hops on her truck.

Monk: Did she wink at me? I think she winked at me.
Randy: There’s no footprints. Monk, I’m sorry. I guess I brought you out here for nothing.
Monk: Maybe not. Maybe not. She said that somebody at the dance heard the gunshot. Check out who it was.
Randy: Jimmy Belmont.
Monk: Yeah. How far away is that dance hall?
Randy: I don’t know. Half a mile?
Monk: You really think somebody could hear a gunshot from that far away? Especially if there was dancing and music playing?
Randy: I don’t know, but…we can find out.

There’s dancing at the dance hall. Adrian Monk enters the hall, while Randy Disher is standing by the truck holding a shotgun.

Woman: Lemonade?
Monk: Ok.
Woman: I made it myself.
Monk: Oh, then, no, thank you. Were you here last month?
Woman: I sure was. I haven’t missed a dance in twelve years.
Monk: Great. Great. Did you hear the gunshot? From the Disher farm?
Woman: No, Sir. I sure didn’t.

The dancing ends, and the people applaud. Adrian Monk walks over to an old man.

Monk: Sir. Did you hear the gunshot last month from the Disher farm?
Man: No, I can’t say as I did. ‘Cause I didn’t.
Butterfield: Mr. Monk!

Sheriff Butterfield is out of her sheriff uniform, and is now donning a purple ruffled dress.

Butterfield: I was hoping you were gonna be here. I’m going undercover tonight. What do you think?

Sheriff Butterfield twirls, and puts her foot on the table to show Mr. Monk the purple garter around her thigh. Adrian Monk is appalled.

Butterfield: Oh, is this your first square dance?
Monk: I’m not here to dance. Randy and I have a theory about the case.

The band resumes playing.

Butterfield: Well, I have a theory, too. I think you really came here to dance. Come on!

Sheriff Butterfield pulls Adrian Monk to the dance floor.

Monk: Oh, no! No, I can’t. I can’t! I’m married.
Butterfield: Where’s your wife?
Monk: She’s dead.
Butterfield: To be honest, I’ve got mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, I’m sory for your loss. On the other hand, here we go!

Sheriff Butterfield pulls Mr. Monk to the center of the dance floor.

Butterfield: Loosen up.

The two joins the square dancers.

Butterfield: What are you afraid of?
Monk: Well…pretty long list. Is Jimmy Belmont here?
Butterfield: Why?
Monk: Just curious.
Butterfield: He never comes to these things.
Monk: Wasn’t he here a month ago?

Sheriff Butterfield exclaims.

Butterfield: You’re right. He was.
Monk: Did anybody else besides Belmont hear the shot?
Butterfield: No. That is pretty odd, now that you mention it.

The dance ends, and everybody claps. Mr. Monk looks at his watch, and it’s 9:56. He runs to the window.

Butterfield: Mr. Monk!

Sheriff Butterfield runs after him.

Randy Disher looks at his watch, and it’s a few minutes past nine. He fires the shotgun, but it’s out of bullets.

Disher: Damn it.

Randy Disher realizes that he has forgotten to load the gun, and did not bring any bullets with him decides to yell instead.

Disher: Bang! Bang! Bang!

Later, Randy Disher is at the kitchen with Mr. Monk and Oates.

Disher: I still can’t believe I forgot to load he gun. I tried yelling. Did you hear anything?
Monk: No.
Disher: Standing in the middle of the road yelling “bang” for 20 minutes. I’m just gald the captain wasn’t there.
Monk: These things happen.
Disher: Yeah, to me. They happen to me, Monk.
Monk: Okay, look. Our little demonstration didn’t work, but you might be right about Jimmy Belmont. That night a month ago was the first dance he had been to in ten years, and he was the only person there who heard the gunshot. It’s pretty suspicious.
Disher: Suspicion isn’t proof.
Monk: You know. I’d still like to meet him. Talk to him.
Oates: Well, it won’t be easy. Belmont never leaves his farm, and he don’t like visitors, but he is looking for a new farmhand.

Randy Disher looks at Mr. Monk.

Monk: No. No, no. I can’t. I…can’t. Randy, you know, I just can’t.
Randy: It’s fine, Monk. I don’t blame you. Forget it. Just forget about me.

Randy Disher looks at the photos hanging on the wall.

Randy: Look at us. Losers all. Hey, at least I don’t have any kids. It ends with me.

Adrian Monk wearing a plaid shirt, jeans with a suspender, and holding a jacket over his shoulders walks over to the house of Jimmy Belmont.

Monk: Ola, Señor. Intiendo que usted busca ayuda.

James Belmont walks to his other farmhands with Mr. Monk.

James: Muchachos!

James Belmont speaks to the farmhands in Spanish, and introduces Mr. Monk to them. Mr. Monk is silent. James Belmont walks away. Raul, the mayordomo, gives Mr. Monk his instructions. Adrian Monk is at the chicken coop putting chicken feed.

Monk: Ninety-six. Ninety-seven. Ninety-eight.

The other farmhand speaks to him in Spanish.

Monk: Si!

The other farmhand continues to speak in Spanish.

Monk: Javier? Javier?
Javier: Eh.

Adrian Monk struggles to speak in Spanish.

Javier: No intiendo. No intiendo.
Monk: No, no. Señor Belmont lucho…

Adrian Monk punches the air, and struggles to speak in Spanish.

Javier: No.

Adrian Monk resumes feeding the chickens.

Monk: Seven. Eight.
Javier: Hey!

Javier speaks to Mr. Monk in Spanish. Mr. Monk responds poorly. He shows him the chicken feed he is holding.

Monk: Hundred. One hundred. Bueno.
Javier: Loco. Mira. Mira.

Javier takes chicken feed from Mr. Monk’s stash, and throws a bunch at the chicken’s coop.

Monk: No. No.

Javier gives Mr. Monk instructions, and makes a bleating sound. Mr. Monk imitates the bleating sound.

Monk: No…

Mr. Monk makes a bleating sound.

Monk: No…

Mr. Monk makes a bleating sound.

Raul does the inventory. Mr. Monk tries to listen to his conversation with another farmhand.

Monk: Four salt blocks missing.

Later, Raul gives instructions to Mr. Monk.

Monk: Arboles. Trees, but…por que?

Raul continues to speak in Spanish then walks away after giving him instructions.

Monk: Prohibida? Prohibited.

Adrian Monk walks over to the fence. James Belmont arrives with his shotgun.

James: Señor Monk.
Monk: Si.

James Belmont speaks to him in Spanish.

Monk: Si.
James: Si?
Monk: Si.
James: I just asked if you got a squirrel in your pants.

Mr. Monk struggles to respond in Spanish.

James: You don’t speak any Spanish, do you?
Monk: Some. High school.
James: You want to tell me what you’re doing back here?
Monk: No.
James: You know, there are no secrets in a town like this. I know all about you, former detective Adrian Monk. I heard you were dancing with Sheriff Butterfield last night. Badly. Heard you were asking about me. Well, here I am. Now, you want to ask me something you go right ahead.
Monk: Okay, what’s back there? Let me guess. Fields of reefer.
James: Fields of reefer? What kind of cop were you?
Monk: You know what I mean. Ditchweed. Boo. The old Ali Baba.
James: What makes you think that I’d actually…
Monk: Magic Dragon. Bambalachi. Yellow Submarine. Black Bart. Dr. Giggles. Kentucky Blue. You know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about Railroad Weed. That’s right. The Devil’s Parsley. Skunk. Splim. Splam. Mooster. Side Salad.
James: Side Salad?
Monk: You’ve been supplementing your income. What do you have? About four or five acres of marijuana back there? Harvey Disher found it, and he was threatening to turn you in.

James Belmont cocks his gun.

Monk: You killed him.
James: Did I? How? See, Harvey Disher’s truck went off the road at 10:30pm. That’s a fact. Hit the electric fence. Everybody saw the lights go out. I was in the dance hall. Half a mile away. In front of fifty witnesses. Now, you think you got enough for a search warrant?
James: Yeah, I don’t, either. Not in this county. It’s time you were headed home, former detective Adrian Monk. Front gate’s that way. Go on ahead. Go on. Go.

Later that night, James Belmont carries two jugs, and unlocks his fence. Adrian Monk is hiding behind the bushes watching him. James Belmont pours gasoline on his marijuana crops, and lights it on fire. The area is engulfed in smoke. Adrian Monk drops his camera.

Monk: Bambalachi. Reefer! Reefer!

Oates is outside sipping his beer when he hears metal clanging.

Oates: Mr. Monk?

Adrian Monk is handcuffed to a grain drill.

Monk: Oates? Oates! Thank, God! Where’s Randy?
Oates: He’s asleep. I can’t help but noticing that you’re handcuffing yourself to that grain drill.
Monk: I inhaled some reefer.
Oates: I got you.
Monk: It’s gonna kick in any minute.
Oates: Okay.
Monk: Here’s the thing. I can’t tolerate any drugs or medications. It’s my metabolism. I don’t know what…I don’t know what’s gonna happen to me. I might go berserk. I might hurt somebody. Oates, dude…here. Here.

Adrian Monk throws the keys at Oates.

Monk: Listen, whatever happens, don’t unlock me. No matter what I say, even if I’m begging you. Oh, my God. Here it comes! Oh, God! I think it’s starting.
Oates: We’re talking about marijuana, right?
Monk: Uh-oh.

Adrian Monk stands up, and starts shaking, and jumping around.

Monk: Riverdance! Oh! Oh! I can feel it! I’m getting hungry.
Oates: Did you have dinner? Got some pecan pie in the fridge.
Monk: It’s the munchies! Oates, whatever you do, don’t put anything near my mouth!
Oates: Can do! But I gotta say, you know, I’ve had some experience in this area, and I don’t think you’re stoned at all.
Monk: No! Oh, no! I see lights flickering!
Oates: Yeah. They’re fireflies.

The sprinklers start spraying water.

Monk: What was that? What was that?
Oates: It’s eight o’clock. Irrigation sprinklers.
Monk: Do they come on every night all over the property?
Oates: Every night.
Monk: Oates. I know how he did it. I know how Belmont killed Randy’s uncle. Get me out of this.
Oates: Okie doke.

Adrian Monk is at the kitchen with Oates.

Oates: Son of a gun, you solved the case. You figured all that out just now?
Monk: Mmm-hmm.
Oates: I can’t quite get a handle on you, Son. One minute you’re handcuffing yourself to a piece of farm machinery, sobbing like a schoolgirl. The next minute you’re putting all the little pieces together like Sherlock Holmes. Which is the real Adrian Monk?
Monk: Yeah. I like to think that a man is made up of many different…
Oates: I think it’s the schoolgirl.
Monk: Yeah, you’re probably right.
Oates: What do we do now?
Monk: Call the sheriff.

Oates clears his throat.

Monk: What? What is it?
Oates: Well, I was just thinking, it would’ve been nice if Randy had been able to figure it all out. He’s been feeling pretty down about himself lately.
Monk: That’s true.
Oates: Solving a big case like this one, he would have felt like a cop again.

Randy Disher is on his bed sleeping with the self-help tape playing.

Man on Tape: You’re a tiger. A wild carnivore. Stalking through the jungle.
Randy: I’m a tiger.

Mr. Monk sneaks inside his bedroom.

Randy: In the jungle…

Mr. Monk turns off the tape, and whispers into Randy’s ear.

Monk: Randy. You were right. Belmont killed your uncle.
Randy: Killed my uncle.
Monk: Here’s what happened.

Morning came, and Randy wakes up.

Randy: Morning. Any coffee left?
Oates: Got a full pot. How’d you sleep?
Randy: Well, fine, I guess.

Randy goes to the fridge, and smells the cream.

Randy: It’s sour. What kind of farm is this? We don’t even have any fresh cream.

Randy walks out of the kitchen. He slaps his head.

Monk: Randy. What is it?
Randy: Mosquito. So, fill me in. What happened on Belmont’s farm?
Monk: Not much to tell. It was a dead end. How, how about you? Any new thoughts on the case?
Randy: No.

Suddenly, Randy stops with a surprised look on his face.

Monk: What? What is it?
Randy: No. It’s nothing. Wait! Wait. Wait a minute. Oh, my God. Oh, my God!

Randy Disher takes the figure pig on the fridge.

Randy: Oh, my God. Monk. Call the sheriff. I think I solved the case.

Sheriff Butterfield, and his deputy with James Belmont meet Randy Disher and Mr. Monk at the scene of the crime.

Butterfield: I told you to do something about the deer.
Randy: Actually Sheriff, the deer on the road was a big clue. It was one of the keys to my solving the case.
James: What case? What am I doing here? Sheriff, you said this was important.
Randy: Well, I think solving a murder case is important. Don’t you Mr. Belmont? Here’s what happened. My uncle must have stumbled across your secret crop. Oh, you know what I’m talking about. Fields of reefer. You lured him up here.

Flashback ensues…Harvey is arguing with James Belmont.

Randy: We’ll never know how, but at some point you hit him.

Flashback: James Belmont grabs a tire iron from his truck, and hits Harvey on the head.

Randy: Probably from behind. Then you put him in his pickup truck, and you shot him. You shot him point-blank in the head.
James: You’re delusional.
Randy: Am I?
James: Yeah.

Randy Disher turns to Mr. Monk.

Randy: Am I?
Monk: You’re doing fine, Randy.
Randy: It had to look like a suicide. You needed a motive.

Flashback: James Belmont takes an unconscious Nadine out of his truck, and lays it on the road.

Randy: So you killed or drugged Nadine, and left her on the road. Then you backed up the truck.

Flashback: James Belmont puts the truck on top of the salt licks, and starts the engine.

Randy: And put salt licks under the fender probably the same four salt licks that are missing from our supply shed. Then you went to the dance and made sure you were seen. It was a perfect alibi, and that is how you did it, Mr. Belmont.
Lenny: Um, I’m not following.
Monk: Randy, I don’t think you’re quite done. You mentioned that part about the…

Adrian Monk imitates sprinklers running.

Monk: Sprinklers.
Randy: Yes! I’m not done yet. The sprinklers!

Flashback: The sprinklers start spraying, and salt licks start melting. The truck falls off the salt licks.

Randy: At eight o’clock the sprinklers kicked on and melted the blocks of salt.

Flashback: The truck runs straight to the electric fence.

Randy: Touchdown.

Flashback: The lights in the dance hall flickers.

Randy: When the lights flickered, you were half a mile in front of fifty witnesses. That’s a pretty piece of homicide I’ve ever encountered. Where were you?
Monk: I…I guess I just…I don’t know.
Randy: I understand. You’re in a slump. Don’t worry. I’ve been there. Just give it time. You’ll be back.
Lenny: It would explain a lot.
Butterfield: It would explain everything including the deer. They were licking the salt.
James: Now that is a nice story. See that’s all it is.
James Belmont walks towards Randy Disher, and talks directly to his face.

James: Where’s your proof? Physical proof. You don’t have any? Do you?
Monk: I think he’s right.
Randy: Sheriff, do you have an evidence bag? Monk, your pen?

Randy takes the sheriff’s evidence bag, and Monk’s pen.

Randy: This truck was never touched or moved, right?

Randy Disher takes the keys out of the ignition using Mr. Monk’s pen. He breathes air at it.

Disher: Yes. That’s a fingerprint. See that? If this is your fingerprint. It means that you were the last person to operate that vehicle.
Randy: Is that proof enough?

Randy Disher bags the keys.

Lenny: Mr. Belmont, could you wait in the cruiser? You have the right to an attorney.
Butterfield: Lieutenant Disher. Do the people a favor; get your butt back to San Francisco. You are a cop. You don’t belong here. Mr. Monk, I don’t know where you belong. I got a feeling you don’t know, either. But if you’re ever in Chambers County again, bring your dancing shoes.

Sheriff Butterfield slaps Mr. Monk’s butt.

Butterfield: Gentlemen, now, if you’ll excuse me, I got a prisoner to process.

Sheriff Butterfield rides in her truck. Adrian Monk smiles at Randy Disher.

Randy: What?
Monk: Nothing.
Randy: Why are you smiling?
Monk: I’m just proud to know you. That was good work.

Adrian Monk continues smiling at Randy Disher.

Randy: What? Why are you smiling?

Randy Disher is at Captain Stottlemeyer’s office.

Randy: Well, I guess I need to talk to the chief now.
Stottlemeyer: No, you don’t need to talk to anybody.

Captain Stottlemeyer pulls out Randy Disher’s gun and badge from his drawer.

Stottlemeyer: I never sent it down. You’ve been sick. You had meningitis.

Captain Stottlemeyer points at the pillow Randy Disher brought with him.

Stottlemeyer: What’s this?
Randy: I have, uh, I have a new technique. Go to sleep, wake up, case is solved.
Stottlemeyer: Good for you.
Randy: I don’t know how I do it. It just happens. What are you working on?
Stottlemeyer: A double homicide in the Castro. A couple of…
Randy: Great. I’ll take it. Cold case?
Stottlemeyer: Yeah.
Randy: Good, I’ll take that one, too.
Stottlemeyer: Hey…I, uh…
Randy: I missed you too.

Randy takes the case files with him, and goes over to the Captain’s couch.

Randy: All right. See you in a couple of hours.

Randy yawns.

Randy: Just try to keep it down a little bit.

Randy Disher lies down on the Captain’s couch.

Stottlemeyer: Okay.

The Captain puts his suit over Randy Disher.

This is not the actual script. This is my own transcription of the episode. The “Mr. Monk Visits a Farm” episode was written by David Breckman. Monk is owned by Universal Media Studios in association with Mandeville Films and Touchstone Television.

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